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Welcome to the inaugural post for what I hope can become an inspirational series about running during and/or after cancer – Get Up Running. This should go without saying but if you’re recovering from cancer and want to start running, clear everything with your doctors beforehand.

My first friend to respond to my inquiry was Marjie from Pink and Pearls. This woman has the kindest soul I have ever encountered, and I am so privileged to count her as a friend.

Name: Marjorie Miller

Type of cancer & your treatment:

Breast cancer; surgery (I also had childhood Leukemia at the age of 12, and for that, three years of chemotherapy).

Were you a runner before cancer or any other sports before cancer?

I ran my first 5K literally the same day I found a breast lump. (race that morning, found the lump in the shower that afternoon). I started running a few months before diagnosis, but was never a runner before cancer.

Did you run during treatment? If no, how long after treatment ended did you take up running?

Yes, I tried to run in between surgeries. I had six total surgeries, including a double mastectomy with reconstruction and lat flap. After each surgery when I got the go-ahead from my doctor to resume physical activity, I attempted to run again. It didn’t always happen with the expanders but I tried.

How has running helped you during and/or after treatment, both physically and mentally?

Mentally it helps me feel like I have control over my body again. It helps me feel in control of my health and my life. Breast cancer took my breasts but it can’t take what I do with my body, which is running. When I run it’s just me and my body; I have complete control. I take myself as far as I want. I push myself as much as I can. Nobody else gets a say when I lace up my sneakers. Physically it’s made me stronger and healthier. It gives me so much self confidence. It gives me energy, helps me deal with stress and anxiety, and I feel it keeps me sane 😉

What did your doctor/doctors say about you running?

They applaud it and encourage it.

What has big your biggest challenge running after cancer?

Being comfortable with the implants. My chest still feels tight and I am still regaining muscles under my chest wall. Running sometimes hurts and pulls at my chest.

What would you say to someone ending treatment or just out of treatment who might be intimidated to take up running?

Take it slowly. Take it one day at a time. Start with what YOU feel comfortable doing. Remember: when you run, you run for you and nobody else. My husband said to me before my first 10 miler a few weeks ago: “Just run YOUR race.”

You’re only running for yourself. Not to impress anyone else. Start with walking, slow jogging, taking breaks, whatever you need. You’ll find with time your energy and stamina will grow. Your confidence will grow. It does get easier and the more you do it, the more you love it.

I did. I ran another 11 miles. Double-freaking-digits. While this is my second double-digit run, this run was even more significant due to the fact that I have been a sickie again, living in Purgatory health. For the last four to five weeks, I have been fighting off one illness after another. It started off as a cold, then I had a stomach virus that completely wiped me out, then a sinus infection. The Boyfriend has been sick, and then it seems I get it, and then so on. Unfortunately, he has seemingly been hit harder than me with all these illnesses, and I’ve been bouncing back, while he has been splat on the ground.

Training during a period of time where you just want to lay down, curl up with a pair of crazy mutts, and watch bad reality television is challenging. I want to run. I want to go to yoga and get my stretch on, gurrrl. The idea of resting when I’m so close to the half marathon? No, I can’t! I rested for two years, and I’m tired of resting.

I ended up listening to my training group’s advice to give it a rest. Illness and training do not go hand in hand. More like hand-to-hand combat. The couple of times I tried to run when under the weather yielded terrible results. When I went to yoga even though I couldn’t breathe out of my nose, horrible idea. Finally, I threw my hands up, went to the doctor to get some much-needed antibiotics, and didn’t run for more than a week.

Today was my first long run in two weeks, and I felt pretty great until mile 9 when the IT band pain hit again. Since I had two miles to go, I wasn’t going to quit. Those two miles were tougher than the first 9 (I can’t believe I actually wrote that sentence). When my watch beeped at the 11 mile mark, I resisted the urge to yell, “YES!” I was also secretly overjoyed that one of my mentors said I was a “strong” runner. SOMEONE CALLED ME STRONG AND IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH HAVING HAD CANCER.

I wish I could spread the message to other people who just finished cancer treatment that they, too, can run. (Of course, always get a “go-ahead” from their oncologist.) I haven’t even been running for a year, like 9 months, and I’m weeks away from running 13.1 miles. I’m not an athlete and well, have never been athletic. It’s like all my surgeries and treatment have flipped a switch in me. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re choking to death, or so sick and in pain that you have to have help walking up stairs, or so zapped of energy that you can barely get out of bed. I have been pushed to my limits during cancer treatment.

On Sunday, I accomplished something I never thought I could do – I ran 11 miles in two hours and three minutes. When I began Fleet Feet’s No Boundaries program last July, I wasn’t even sure if I could run a 5K. I thought to myself, “Okay, you signed up. That’s the first step.” I ran the Pittsburgh’s Great Race 5K in 31 minutes, and I was so proud of myself afterward. When I saw that Fleet Feet was offering a training program for either the half marathon or full marathon, I hemmed and hawed about it for days.

No way I can run 13.1 miles. You are out of your damn mind.

After I shook those “I can’t” thoughts out of my head, I signed up for the training group, and I have no idea why I ever thought I couldn’t do this. Now that I have an 11 mile run under my belt, I know that I can run the Pittsburgh Half Marathon this May 4. I am going to do it. Even more so, I am going to run the Pittsburgh Half in two hours. That’s my goal. Whether or not I meet that goal, I’m going to be proud that I crossed that finish line.

Cancer is something that my body does. Running is something I choose to do.

When I cross that finish line in just over a month, I hope my mother is looking down from wherever she is, shouting, “HUFFMAN RULES.”

Yesterday I went for a six-mile run around North Park’s loop around the lake. I brought my little point-and-shoot camera with me during my run so I could capture all these winter beauty scenes. This time last year, I would have laughed hysterically at the thought of me running in the dead of winter, nonetheless running six miles. So much can happen in a year, and I can feel 2014 will be the year of more change.

When I was in middle school and high school, I played sports but I was never good at them. I probably would go as far as to say I stunk. Pretty sure my family members who went to my softball games would also agree. As soon as I turned 16 and could find a part-time job, I said good-bye to softball and began working at the local amusement park.

In an effort to get back into pre-cancer shape, at the recommendation of two dear friends, I joined this couch to 5K training group. I had been pushing myself on the treadmill at my local gym in summer 2013. Every time I pushed myself faster or longer, I felt so proud of myself, also fighting the urge to high-five other people at the gym.

High five me! Come on, man! I had breast cancer, and I’m recovering from months of reconstruction. This is HUGE.

Both of my friends, who ran marathons and half-marathons, kept encouraging me to keep running but go beyond the treadmill. Since they obviously knew what they were talking about, I listened and I’m glad I did. Six months later, I just ran 5.5 miles on New Year’s Day with a group of runners, and I made good time. Running to me is an individualized sport. I’m at the point where I’m not trying to win in my age group. I just want to improve my own time. Sure, winning would be nice, but finishing the race is all that matters.

Running has been the last step I needed to take for my recovery from breast cancer. I am in the best shape of my life, and I’m not talking about post-cancer shape. Right now, I am in the best shape of my pre- and post-cancer life. I can run over 5 miles three times a week, which is definitely not something I could have said in 2009 or 2010. Sure, I was thin and probably 10 pounds lighter than I am, but I was in awful shape.

Not anymore.

On top of the physical benefits, the mental benefits have been greater. When I’m running, I’m not worrying about my job, my family, my relationship or what I have to do at home to keep it from turning into a pigsty. While running, I think about my body, like where my arms are, bringing my knees up higher, making sure my hips are pulled in and my butt isn’t sticking out. Running, for me, is like meditation. My brain takes a breather while my body is being pushed to its limits.

Running also helps to reduce my risk of developing a new breast cancer or developing a distance recurrence (i.e., metastatic breast cancer). Research after research shows that physical activity can lower your risk of breast cancer. Sadly, nothing helps you prevent cancer, and I definitely do not believe that women who go on to develop a new breast cancer or metastatic breast cancer never exercised. (Sorry health nuts, even healthy, in-shape people develop breast cancer.) When it comes to cancer, we just don’t know. The best we can do is lower our risk.

Recently, an October 2013 New York Times article published a piece regarding how walking may lower breast cancer risk:

Meanwhile, those few women who were the most active, sweating vigorously for up to 10 hours each week, realized an even greater benefit, with 25 percent less risk of developing breast cancer than those women who exercised the least.

For the study, researchers at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill compared 1,500 women with breast cancer to more than 1,550 women without breast cancer who were part of the ongoing “Long Island Breast Cancer Study Project” that looked at environmental causes of the disease.

The researchers found that women who exercised during their reproductive years or following menopause reduced their risk of developing breast cancer. The greatest risk reduction was found in women who exercised 10 to 19 hours per week (or two hours each day for five days), but a woman’s risk was reduced for all levels of exercise intensity, even light. Exercise appeared to reduce the risk of hormone receptor positive breast cancers, which are the most commonly diagnosed tumors among U.S. women.

That article mentioned “hormone receptor positive breast cancer,” as the most commonly diagnosed tumors. Indeed, New York Times specified that er+ (the type of breast cancer I had) consisted of approximately 75 percent of breast cancer diagnoses.

I came across this Washington Post article written by a woman who also went through breast cancer treatment. Elizabeth H. MacGregor wrote:

There was virtually nothing I could control about the nightmare of my cancer, I thought. But give me one thing that I can take charge of, that I can do — that I love to do — and I’m going to ride as if my life depends on it.

Ding, ding, ding. That’s it, at least for me. When it came to my cancer treatment, I had little to no control of what happened to me and what I had to endure. Ms. MacGregor again wrote:

Some women are empowered by a cancer diagnosis, but I was not. I only felt vulnerable. While I trusted the medical professionals caring for me and the treatments I received, I found my role to be unsettlingly passive. Cycling allowed me to be an active participant in my treatment; it gave me agency in my recovery.

I took my doctors’ advice, and I underwent the treatment they suggested in an “unsettlingly passive” role. Sure, I could have said no or kept looking for a doctor who would eventually tell me what I wanted them to tell me. I went the conventional route with the conventional treatment, and I have no regrets. The control aspect has come after treatment, and running is something I can control. I decide whether or not I put my running shoes on.

While I don’t know if I’ll ever go through cancer treatment again, I at least know I’m making it harder for breast cancer to catch me.